


For Science

by itsalwayssunnyit



Category: Vampyr (Video Game)
Genre: Anal Sex, Drinking, Drunk Sex, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-30
Updated: 2020-12-30
Packaged: 2021-03-11 04:55:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28439478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/itsalwayssunnyit/pseuds/itsalwayssunnyit
Summary: It starts with Geoffrey asking, "Can you get drunk?” Jonathan raises an eyebrow and patiently waits for him to finish further elaborating his point. “Like, if you bite someone who is drunk, can their blood get you drunk?”And Jonathan shouldn't indulge Geoffrey, he knows it by now, but indulging Geoffrey is only one of the many things Jonathan shouldn't but ends up doing anyway.
Relationships: Geoffrey McCullum/Jonathan Reid
Comments: 9
Kudos: 118





	For Science

**Author's Note:**

> not beta read, all mistakes are mine and all feedback is encouraged :)

Sitting across from Jonathan Reid at a mostly secluded table inside the Turquoise Turtle, Geoffrey McCullum glances at the pint of ale in his hands and then at the Ekon in front of him and, instead of threatening to end his (and all other leeches’) supernatural life like he’s sworn to many, many years ago when he first joined the Guard or Priwen, he asks, “Can you get drunk?”

Jonathan raises an eyebrow and patiently waits for Geoffrey to finish further elaborating his point.

“Like, if you bite someone who is drunk, can _their_ blood get you drunk?”

At first Jonathan wants to laugh. It’s not the first time a conversation between him and Geoffrey derails into absurd territory — that’s actually one of the foundations of their (tentative, but very real) friendship given the fact that most common subjects, such as family, work and free-time activities, are either too uncomfortable to talk about or just plain uninteresting.

It is, however, the first time the amused glint in Jonathan’s eye turns considering as he holds Geoffrey’s gaze. Geoffrey, in turn, shoots an uncertain glance at the ale in his glass and, not really needing an answer from Jonathan, leans to the side of his chair with a raised hand, beckoning the pub’s barkeeper with a loud, “Tom! Break out the whiskey, will you!”

The turn Jonathan’s relationship with Geoffrey took in the aftermath of the events of 1918, this strange kinship based on playful animosity and a shared alienation from the people they’re both sworn to protect, while surprising, was more than welcome. With Elisabeth exiled in Scotland and Swansea’s… _tragic_ passing, Jonathan doesn’t have many friends left who share his unusual circadian rhythm or the knowledge of his true nature.

So they found each other, somehow. Worked together, even hunted together on more than one occasion and, from time to time, find somewhere to, well, _talk_. Which means Tom Watts has seen them plenty, what with the Turquoise Turtle being one of the only relatively proper establishments to be open this late at night.

Speaking of which, a minute or so later, Tom himself comes over to their table to Geoffrey a shot of whiskey.

“You can leave the bottle,” Geoffrey tells the barkeeper, pointedly ignoring the eye roll that earns him.

“One of those nights, then,” Tom mutters to himself, too quietly for Geoffrey to catch, but the corner of Jonathan’s lips twitch.

“For science!” Geoffrey toasts, raising his glass. Jonathan watches maybe a bit too attentively as Geoffrey drains his glass in one long gulp, strong throat working around the liquid. If Geoffrey feels his hungry gaze, he doesn’t mention it. He never does. Jonathan doesn’t know what to make of it. Does the hunter not mind? Does he not notice?

Does he _enjoy_ it?

“I certainly missed it, you know,” Jonathan says, apropos nothing. Geoffrey sets his suddenly empty glass down and their eyes meet once more. Jonathan continues, “Being able to just have a drink and relax. As it is, there aren’t many substances that will have a… positive effect on me.”

“Except for blood,” Geoffrey offers, corner of his lips twisting upwards in amusement, and pours himself another drink. Jonathan snorts.

“Well, yes.” Jonathan sets his elbow on the table and rests his chin on his fist as Geoffrey drinks his second glass — a bit more slowly than the first, but with definite purpose. Jonathan frowns. “Maybe you should slow down a bit there, Geoffrey, we can’t have you passing out.”

Geoffrey finishes his glass with an unimpressed, “Hah,” and promptly pours himself another one, which he raises as he declares, “It takes more than a bit of whiskey to get me drunk, Reid.”

Jonathan lets out another snort, fondness in his eyes. There are three different names Geoffrey uses to refer to him: leech, when he’s trying to get a rise out of him; Reid, the most common when they’re out in public; and just plain Jonathan whenever they’re alone or talking about serious things.

“If you say so,” Jonathan replies. “I’d hate for you to go and make a spectacle of yourself, you know.”

“I trust you to carry me home if it ever comes to that, how about that?” Geoffrey whispers like it’s a secret. He takes a more measured sip of his glass, a curious expression on his face. “This is rather decent whiskey. I’m stunned.”

That only means that getting the hunter away from that particular bottle will prove much more difficult the longer he indulges, or so Jonathan thinks. Geoffrey slows down quite a bit after that third glass, though. He does proceed to steadily drain the bottle until there’s only about half of it left, however — had it been open when Tom brought it over? Jonathan can’t recall — all the while asking Jonathan all sorts of questions about what else the Ekon misses about life as a mortal. During the next half hour, they talk about food and drink and, curiously, about old memories of heading over to the seaside to spend the afternoon by the ocean, all but baking under the sun.

By the time Jonathan realises how much of the whiskey Geoffrey has actually drunk, the hunter’s eyes are dark and shiny and there’s a flush high on his cheeks even though he insists, “I’m all right, Reid. Barely a buzz. Let me just take a leak and we’ll get this bottle finished.”

Jonathan has an inkling that the hunter might be more intoxicated than he's letting on, but he only nods. When Geoffrey tries to stand up, however, he overbalances and nearly loses his footing. He would have fallen face first onto the dirty floor of the pub if Jonathan hadn’t stood up to steady him with a quiet, “Barely a buzz, you say?”

“Well,” Geoffrey manages. The fact that he doesn’t immediately pull away from Jonathan’s grasp is even more revealing than his stumbling. Jonathan doesn’t let go of him. He is almost certain that Geoffrey would not be able to remain standing up if he did.

Geoffrey looks at Jonathan with the self-satisfied grin of a man who knows to have reached his own limit and is perfectly ready to be quite a handful for everyone involved and says, “Should we get a room or something? I’m not letting you bite me in the middle of the bar.”

Jonathan almost slaps a hand over the hunter’s (quite loud) mouth. He glances around to make sure no one is listening in, but Geoffrey does have a point. They didn’t think this through. A room sounds like a good idea, at least Geoffrey will have a horizontal surface other than a table to sleep off his indulgences.

Jonathan manoeuvres Geoffrey until the hunter is leaning against the wall next to the stairs and tells him, “I’ll go talk to Tom. You wait here.”

When Jonathan asks for a room, Tom shoots a concerned look towards where Geoffrey is leaning against the stairs, arms crossed as to convince the onlookers of his sobriety. It doesn’t seem convince Tom and the barkeeper narrows his eyes at Jonathan. Before handing the doctor a room key, the man finds it necessary to tell Jonathan he’s always thought of him as an honourable man, someone he could trust not to take advantage of Mr. McCullum’s _less than ideal_ state.

Jonathan blushes, coughs and then stutters something about meaning to just help Geoffrey upstairs, you see, he’s had more than his share of whiskey, didn’t realise how much he was drinking until he stood up and could barely walk by himself.

“Well, of course, Dr. Reid,” Tom replies, obviously not believing a single word Jonathan says.

Defeated, Jonathan makes his way back to Geoffrey, who takes one look at him and asks, “What’s with the face?”

Jonathan shakes his head with a quiet, “I’ll tell you when we’re alone.” He’s very much looking forward to getting away from the inquiring gazes of the other patrons of the pub. Getting Geoffrey up the stairs, though, proves to be quite a challenge. More than once the hunter misses a step and Jonathan has to help the grinning maniac back up. By the time they make it into the room, though, Jonathan’s grinning himself and laughing quietly at what an absolute dork of a drunk Geoffrey is. As often as he’s had the opportunity to appreciate Geoffrey’s company after the hunter got over their initial rivalry, this is a side of him — playful, laid-back and almost silly — Jonathan’s only had glances of before.

As soon as they’re inside the room, Geoffrey excuses himself to go and relieve his bladder while loudly asking, “So, are you going to tell me why you looked like you had sucked on a lime downstairs or am I supposed to keep wondering?”

“Oh? Well, I…” Jonathan struggles to find the words and eventually Geoffrey wanders back into the room. He has splashed some water on his face and looks moderately more sober, but his eyes are still unusually bright, his cheeks very pink. Jonathan clears his throat and looks away. “If you must know, Tom Watts was rather concerned about your virtue. Told me in very clear terms not to… take advantage of your intoxicated state.”

“Really?” Geoffrey tilts his head to the side, which makes him look like a very big and very confused dog, and then shrugs. “Oh, I ought to leave him a nice tip when we leave, then. Good chap.”

Jonathan is suddenly feeling very self-conscious, standing in the middle of the room with a hunter whose (deliciously tempting) blood is flooded with alcohol just a few feet away.

“He does have a point,” Jonathan considers, taking a small step towards the door. “Maybe you’d better just go ahead and… sleep it off.”

Just then, Geoffrey’s face does this odd thing where it shifts from surprised amusement into a mask of indifference that barely manages to hide his annoyance.

“You know what? Fuck you, Reid.” He crosses his arms as he steps closer to Jonathan, glaring daggers at the Ekon. This up close, Jonathan can smell the whisky on his breath, the dark scent of sweat and metal on his skin. “You don’t want to do this, then fine. I’m not going to beg you to fucking bite me, so you can just… _go_ if you’d like.”

Jonathan exhales a helpless sigh. “It’s not that I don’t want to, er… bite you, because, trust me, I _do_.” Even saying the word aloud – _bite_ – makes him ache. Truth is, he’s been _craving_ the hunter’s blood since the night they fought on top of Pembroke hospital, but he has no intention of letting Geoffrey in on that particular fact, especially in the state he’s is in. “It just… doesn’t feel _right_.”

For a second, Geoffrey looks almost… disappointed. And then he’s dismissing Jonathan with a nonchalant, “Sure. Whatever.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrow and then widen in disbelief a second later. “What? Are you seriously angry with me?”

“You bet your respectable arse I am,” Geoffrey snaps back, his accent thick with irritation. “I just went and got myself absolutely plastered for what? I’ll have the most useless hangover tomorrow.”

“Well,” Jonathan begins, but Geoffrey does not allow him to continue.

“I’ve given you my consent already, loud and clear. I’m not some innocent damsel threatened by the dark and handsome daredevil!”

Jonathan cringes. “Can you even hear yourself?” he wonders aloud.

Geoffrey’s huffs in annoyance, danger in his eyes, and says, “You know what?”

Before Jonathan can even say ‘what’, he’s being thrown bodily down onto the nearby bed and Geoffrey is climbing on top of him while simultaneously trying to shove his entire _fist_ into Jonathan’s mouth. Jonathan keeps his lips firmly closed and narrowly misses being punched in the nose before he manages to push Geoffrey to the side away with an angry, “What on Earth is wrong with you?!”

Pushing Geoffrey to the side is not enough and Jonathan has to physically hold the hunter down to prevent him from trying to get his hand into Jonathan’s mouth again. It’s probably only the alcohol in Geoffrey’s body that allows Jonathan to hold him down, however, because even without King Arthur’s blood to aid him, Geoffrey McCullum is still remarkably strong. That’s probably the reason why it takes Jonathan a second too long to realise how compromising the position they end up at actually is, with Geoffrey underneath him, Jonathan’s thighs bracketing the hunter’s waist, Geoffrey’s wrists in Jonathan’s hands while the Ekon presses the whole weight of his body down on Geoffrey to try and keep him still.

When realisation hits him, Jonathan goes hot all over, which Geoffrey takes advantage of, easily reversing their positions with a cheeky, “A-ha!”

And then he pauses, holding his breath and looking upwards. Jonathan is still trying to make sense of the unexpected pressure on top of his suddenly very sensitive lower body when he notices how distinctly _green_ Geoffrey quickly becomes.

“Oh, no,” Jonathan exhales as he gets ready to be vomited all over. Geoffrey seems to be able to get a hold of himself just in time, though. Jonathan blinks up at the hunter in outraged disbelief. “Thought you Irishmen could hold your liquor.”

Geoffrey holds a finger up and takes a couple of slow, shallow breaths before responding, “This is me holding my fucking liquor, you ponce.”

Jonathan wonders if Geoffrey can tell his arse is right on top of Jonathan's not that uninterested prick, because the next thing the hunter does is let himself drop down next to Jonathan on the mattress with an unhappy grunt. Jonathan can still feel the lingering heat of him and although he's not really intoxicated himself, it certainly feels that way with the pleasant warmth currently spreading across in his members, a blissful, tingling sensation settling over his skin.

But Jonathan is already used to feeling rather odd around Geoffrey.

“Goddamnit, everything is _spinning_. If you do not bite me, I will be holding you personally accountable for my hangover, Dr. Reid,” Geoffrey says after a while. He doesn’t sound very confident or comfortable, though, despite being on a moderately comfortable bed. Jonathan moves to lie on his side and props himself up on a bent elbow so that he can get a good look at the other man.

“I'll get you some painkillers, vampire hunter. I left some with Tom a while ago,” he promises, dark eyes watching Geoffrey very closely. Geoffrey glances at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Or you could, you know, get over yourself and just bite me. I'm not gonna offer again,” Geoffrey threatens. “I can't believe I'm actually having to talk you into it... You're probably the worst vampire I've ever met, and that’s saying something.”

Jonathan leans a bit closer to the hunter, suspicion on the electric blue of his eyes. “Why are you so hell-bent on getting me drunk?”

“I'm… curious,” the hunter replies so easily Jonathan doesn’t think to question his honesty. “You’ve seen me drunk, already, so I was wondering what kind of drunk you would be. I bet you're one of those really emotional ones, who get all teary-eyed over everything.”

Jonathan rolls his eyes. “Oh, you're so very wrong, there. I'll have you know I make a delightful drunk. Great at parties.” The amused quirk on the hunter’s lips lets Jonathan know that Geoffrey doesn’t believe him at all. “At least I'm not the pushy, stubborn, insufferable kind of drunk.”

Insufferable and damn near irresistible, that is. Jonathan’s eyes stray towards the tantalising skin on the side of Geoffrey’s throat and he finds himself that much closer to giving in.

“You really want me to?”

“Well, it's not that I want you to, it’s the _principle_ of the thing,” Geoffrey reasonably replies and it’s all it takes for Jonathan to give in to the predator inside him, his movements swift and graceful as he takes one of Geoffrey’s arms in a gentle but firm grasp and pulls the hunter’s sleeve up to reveal the milky surface of his wrist, the dark veins pulsing right underneath.

Jonathan’s fangs throb hungrily inside his mouth as he wonders, “Where do you want me to bite you?”

He’s not really expecting an answer. Unable to resist much longer, he presses his nose to Geoffrey’s wrist and inhales deeply. The hunter smells even better this close, so undeniably alive. Jonathan lets his lips drag against his skin, eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of moments.

When Geoffrey finally realises he’s been asked a question, Jonathan suddenly lets go of him. He swings one leg over Geoffrey’s hips, eyes burning into Geoffrey’s cautiously blank gaze. “Or somewhere more... _hidden_?” the doctor suggests as his index finger trails questioningly over the hunter’s clothed chest.

Geoffrey can’t find words to respond, his lips parted as he stares up at Jonathan. That’s a side of the Ekon he’s never really seen before and having a glance at the predator behind the prim and proper doctor is indeed a thrill. As dangerous as the Ekon looks and sounds and rightfully _is_ , though, that’s still Dr. Jonathan Reid, still completely in control, patiently waiting for an answer.

Geoffrey clears his suddenly very tight throat.

“I didn't really... plan that far.”

Jonathan smirks, teeth sharp, protruding fangs twinkling under the light. Geoffrey’s breath catches, something like fear tightening his stomach.

He _really_ didn’t think this through.

Jonathan buries his fingers into Geoffrey's hair and _pulls_ , forcing the hunter to bare the vulnerable skin of his neck to him. Geoffrey doesn’t resist. His heart practically leaps into his throat, blood rushing dizzyingly through his veins while Jonathan’s eyes zero in on a point on Geoffrey’s throat which pulses in time with his skyrocketing heartbeat, and he still doesn’t fight it.

Jonathan wants to lick his skin just as much as he wants to just break it under his teeth to feast on the hunter’s blood, but he holds back. Geoffrey's hands fly to Jonathan's shoulders as if he can hear the doctor’s thoughts. He's not pushing Jonathan away, though. Just holding on, hissing a soft, quiet, “ _Fuuuck_.”

Later, much later, Geoffrey will blame the alcohol for his inability to realise just how turned on he already was by then, his cock pressing hot and hard against Jonathan’s thigh.

Jonathan tightens his grasp on Geoffrey’s hair almost painfully and runs his nose up his throat, lips brushing shivering soft skin, the coarseness of his beard tickling, and asks, “ _Here_ , Geoffrey?”

No. Not his throat. It’s too dangerous, too risky. Jonathan wouldn’t, not really. He kind of likes to entertain the idea, though, and likes the effect it has on Geoffrey.

“Shit,” Geoffrey gasps. He is breathing heard, unmoving in Jonathan’s arms. And then Jonathan lays an open-mouthed, messy kiss on his neck and the hunter groans like a wounded beast. Damn, he _feels_ like a wounded beast, the most vulnerable parts of him raw, torn open.

Being shot at and beaten up never made him feel quite this exposed.

Jonathan runs his tongue along the arch of Geoffrey’s neck and then sucks hungrily at the skin right under his ear, mindful of his teeth but unable to resist tasting the salt of Geoffrey’s sweat and the frankly ridiculous and highly addictive _sweetness_ of the hunter’s flesh. Geoffrey bucks against him, shuddering helplessly in his arms, finger tightening on Jonathan’s shoulders hard enough to feel like a threat. Jonathan surges against him like the tide, grinding their hips together, hard against where Geoffrey is just as hard, those dangerously sharp teeth pressed into Geoffrey’s skin firmly enough to hurt but not to break through.

Jonathan hums. He is teasing himself as much as he's teasing Geoffrey, he knows, rolling his hips with increasing urgency, lips bruising Geoffrey mercilessly until the hunter cries out. Slowly, Jonathan releases his grip on Geoffrey’s hair and pulls back. When he looks down, the skin of Geoffrey’s throat is dark red. The hunter makes quite an inviting picture like this, eyes almost closed and parted lips bitten red in a futile attempt to hold back his voice.

The sudden withdrawal of Jonathan’s lips has Geoffrey blinking up in confusion. As soon he meets Jonathan’s eyes, Geoffrey’s gaze turns challenging and he leans his head further to the side with a smirk, exposing more of his throat to the predator hovering above him.

“You’re looking a little hungry there, doctor,” he taunts, hooking a strong leg behind one of Jonathan’s and pulling him down more firmly. The groan Jonathan lets out is much more animalistic than any other thing Geoffrey’s heard the whole night.

“You really do have a death wish, hunter,” Jonathan tells him as he takes Geoffrey’s chin between his thumb and index finger and tilts his head up.

 _I could kiss him_ , Jonathan thinks.

 _Should_ kiss him, Jonathan then realises with sudden clarity, but Geoffrey is hissing, “Yeah? Come kill me, then,” and gracelessly shoving a hand inside Jonathan's trousers, his touch warm and just tight enough to compel Jonathan to roll his hips into it with a strangled moan, head falling to rest against the hunter’s shoulder. “Come on, Jon, just… stop holding back. You are not going to break me.”

Geoffrey’s smug whispers, the heat of his touch, it’s more than enough for Jonathan to promptly lose his last bit of restraint.

If he’s a bit rough with Geoffrey as he’s pulling their clothes away, ripping a few seams and buttons in the process, Geoffrey responds only by gripping him all the more tightly, cussing louder and just generally giving as good as he’s getting. By the time they manage to get their clothes off, they’re both flushed and breathless and making a whole lot more noise than they’d ever be comfortable with if they were thinking rationally.

When Jonathan flips Geoffrey onto his stomach, the hunter moves easily onto his hands and knees and Jonathan is not even thinking, anymore. Not logically, at least. His whole being is focused on the man spread before him like a feast.

Jonathan pulls Geoffrey back into him with a hand on his hip and presses the wet tip of his cock into the valley between the hunter’s legs with a dark, “This what you want, Geoffrey?”

“Yes,” Geoffrey immediately replies, a hint of impatience in his voice. Impatient as he might be, though, Jonathan has to get him ready if they intend on getting anywhere.

As increasingly messy kisses trail down the curve of Geoffrey’s lower back, Jonathan is taken by a sudden realisation. He lays a kiss on the hard mound of Geoffrey’s arse cheek and says, “Geoffrey,” his words muffled as he carefully pulls him open, fingers digging into strong muscle and exposing Geoffrey’s hole to the tickle of his breath. “I know where I want to bite you.”

“Jesus Christ,” is Geoffrey’s muffled response. Jonathan pointedly tightens his grasp on Geoffrey’s arse and can almost hear the gears turning inside the hunter’s head until he grunts, “Do it.”

Two words. It’s all Jonathan gets and it’s all he really needs. He presses a messy kiss on and _into_ Geoffrey’s entrance, makes it filthy wet and then withdraws to rub the pads of his fingers into the tightness there, teasing the muscles into relaxing. His lips stray outwards, brushing the soft, light hairs on Geoffrey’s buttock, teeth scraping and then catching, piercing a small wound into Geoffrey’s pale skin, tongue following immediately after. Jonathan tries not to be greedy, tries to hold on to whatever reason that can keep him from draining Geoffrey, so he doesn’t really bite down. He sucks, instead, eager and hungry and Geoffrey responds with a desperate, “Oh. OH! _Christ_!” because it burns very sharply but, for a man as used to punishment as Geoffrey, it barely registers as pain.

A finger slides easily into the hunter’s body and Jonathan finds himself suddenly entranced by the tight heat around it. Reluctantly, he pulls himself away from the Geoffrey’s blood and back towards his centre. As soon as his tongue traces the furled skin of Geoffrey’s hole, his reluctance is forgotten and a different type of hunger takes over.

He stops holding back.

Geoffrey cries out as Jonathan alternates between lapping up the fresh blood that oozes from the timidly bleeding wound on Geoffrey’s butt cheek and pressing increasingly messy kisses against the hunter’s entrance, where a second finger presses in. Jonathan becomes more and more frenzied as every second goes by, his own cock hanging hard and heavy between his legs, his need ignored until he can’t ignore it anymore.

Jonathan doesn’t ask if Geoffrey is ready when he presses into the hunter with a grunt. He doesn’t need to because Geoffrey is pushing back against his every touch, asking for more and harder and _faster_ , “Come on, Reid,” and Jonathan obliges, enraptured, fucks him as brutally and violently as Geoffrey wants him to.

Time becomes a very distant concept. A few minutes or a few days might have passed from the first, tentative thrust that enveloped Jonathan in Geoffrey’s heat until the moment Geoffrey comes, stroking himself with one hand and clutching a pillow in the other, cursing and moaning and spilling salty and bitter over his own fist. He tightens around Jonathan for tortuously long moments until he stills, sweaty and breathless. Jonathan waits him out, stroking his back, laying kisses across Geoffrey’s shoulders. Then, he flips the hunter over.

Their lips meet for the first time just as Jonathan is sliding back inside Geoffrey’s body. It startles him, how easily Geoffrey kisses back, his lips soft and welcoming, arms and legs wrapping around the Ekon, embracing him and his pleasure. Jonathan was very close already, he has to pull away from the kiss, gasping a warning into Geoffrey’s neck, but then Geoffrey replies with, “Bite me,” and Jonathan can’t say no anymore. He sinks his fangs into the strong muscle of the hunter’s shoulder and drinks, the explosion of his pleasure bursting bright white through the blood-red tint of his hunger being satiated as he pumps his seed into the hunter’s welcoming heat, chasing it just a bit longer, one more second, there. He parts from Geoffrey’s blood with a hoarse cry, trembling from head to toe, shoving forward blindly, still coming. It seems to go on forever, the shivers down his spine, blinding heat pouring out of his body.

Geoffrey holds him through it and keeps holding him even when Jonathan becomes unresponsive and uncomfortably heavy in his arms.

“You smell so good,” Jonathan tells him after a minute. He can’t stop nuzzling the hunter’s neck, the scent of his sweat and blood and semen thick in the air. “Perfect,” Jonathan purrs. Geoffrey laughs quietly.

“You’re _heavy_ ,” Geoffrey complains, but he’s kissing Jonathan back when he shoves the Ekon to the side. Then he pauses, makes a face and lets out a low, “Shit.” Jonathan raises an eyebrow. “Jesus, my head is killing me.”

Jonathan doesn’t want to say it, but goes ahead anyway. “I knew I shouldn’t have bitten you.”

Geoffrey shoots Jonathan an unimpressed glare, but ends up closing his eyes with a hissed, “Do you at least feel a bit drunk?”

“I honestly can’t tell,” Jonathan admits, pressing a kiss to Geoffrey’s shoulder. “But I don’t think so.” He speaks very quietly, almost apologetically. “How do you feel?”

“Like I’ve just been fucked stupid,” Geoffrey unashamedly replies. At least he’s in a good mood. “But also hungover, which is not something I had anticipated.” Jonathan gives him another minute or so, but Geoffrey’s headache doesn’t seem to be going anywhere. Eventually, the hunter says, “Would you be a lamb and get me some water? Maybe one of those painkillers you mentioned?”

Jonathan is not exactly looking forward to leaving Geoffrey’s side after the hunter was bitten not only once, but twice. Jonathan made sure not to overindulge, but Geoffrey could be suffering from blood loss. “I’ll have to go downstairs,” he argues. In response, Geoffrey stretches like a cat, the whole nude length of his body laid out like a feast, which is not really helping convince Jonathan to go anywhere.

“I’ll be here. Trust me, I am not going anywhere anytime soon.” Geoffrey winks and then immediately closes his eyes and moves to lie on his side with a grumpy, “Shit, everything’s spinning.”

“I’m sorry,” Jonathan offers even though he’s fighting back a grin.

“I’ll forgive you as soon as you get me some water. I’m parched,” Geoffrey replies. “Stop ogling me like a creep and go, Jonathan.”

At that, Jonathan loses the battle against his smile. It’s pretty rare for Geoffrey to call him by his first name, so he nods obediently and puts his clothes back on. No amount of layers will be able to hide the debauched state he’s in, though, and the dirty look he gets from Tom Watts is one of the most judgemental he’s ever received. It’s impressive, really.

The barkeeper does give Jonathan a pitcher of water and some painkillers, which Geoffrey is immensely thankful for, so Jonathan’s humiliation is worth it in the end. Back in the room, Geoffrey swallows the painkillers and drains almost half the pitcher before settling back against the pillows with a thoughtful look in his eyes while Jonathan wonders if it’s time for him to go home, if he’s overstayed his welcome already. Then Geoffrey says, “You know what I heard is great for hangovers?”

Geoffrey looks utterly proud of himself and Jonathan almost doesn’t want to know why, but he still asks, “What, Geoffrey?”

Instead of using words, Geoffrey trails a hand down his own abdomen, fingertips sliding over the dark hair leading down to his half-hard prick. He doesn’t touch himself, but Jonathan gets the general idea.

“I can’t say I’ve heard that before,” Jonathan admits.

“Well, I mean, it can’t hurt to try it, right?” Geoffrey shrugs, feigning innocence. “For science.”

Jonathan nods in agreement, a smile tugging at his lips. “For science,” he echoes, undoing the buttons on his shirt.

**Author's Note:**

> can you tell I'm on a one-shot roll? 
> 
> I always love to hear from you, guys, so feel free to let me know what you think of this piece, yes? And if you found any mistakes there lol anyway, happy holidays, everyone!


End file.
